


Summer Musings

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: A small collection of moments between Vegeta and Bulma, with a summer vibe.





	1. July

**~July~**

 

The rain rattled down against Capsule Corporation, the summer storm a sharp contrast to the calm of their bedroom. Vegeta felt Bulma stir in his arms. He tightened his hold on her and hoped she would fall back asleep.

Her little button nose buried against his chest. Her soft breaths fanned against his skin and her toes wormed their way between his legs. With a huff he relented, and allowed their limbs to tangle.

“What time is it?” she murmured, half asleep.

“Dawn.”

“Don’t go yet.”

He frowned, torn between the desire to train and the desire to stay. The wind whipped against the side of the house ferociously.

“Don’t go,” she repeated. Her voice was lower, ghosting over his ear, the words a siren call that distracted him from her hand. Delicate fingers snuck into his briefs and wrapped around his cock. She cooed when it began to fill out.

Damned vulgar woman.

He peeled open an eye to glare at her, but she was too focused on her prize, bright blue eyes twinkling with interest. “Looks like you needed this,” she teased as her fingers worked him lazily, coaxing more blood into his groin.

He huffed, fingers fisting in the sheets.

“Promise you’ll stay?”

He hated that she was this good at manipulating him. Hated more that he wanted her to succeed.

“Please?”

“Hn.” It was as good as his assent.

Soft lips kissed his jaw and whispered a _thank you_ that was more felt than heard.

The wind and rain pelted the house, relentless, a burgeoning storm that mirrored his own swelling climax at her clever hand. The rain melted away the rest of the world, leaving them cocooned in her room. His breathing grew ragged, and he buried his face in her hair to muffle his groans.

“Shh, it’s okay. You can cum.”

He did, spilling himself in her hand, his own clutching her tightly.

“There. Shh. Better?”

He struggled to catch his breath, his mind raging with endorphins. Or was that the storm?

She wiped them both up and pressed her cheek to his chest, letting out a content little sigh. “Let’s sleep all morning.”

He wasn’t about to argue. He held her close until she fell asleep in his arms, not even asking for him to return the favor. When she was deep under, he let his fingers run indulgently through her hair and brushed over her perfect cheek.

“I’ll stay,” he promised.

 

* * *

~xo0xo~

 

 **AN** : **For** **Nadine** who requested: Cuddly fluff that leads to something steamy? But it's during a July thunderstorm?


	2. Staring

**~Staring~**

 

“Bulma, you’ve been staring at him for the last half hour.”

She nearly choked on her cocktail. Bulma set the drink down and glanced at Chi Chi. “Excuse me?”

Chi Chi pulled down her shades to give her a hard look. “Don’t play dumb. You haven’t taken your eyes off that jerk the whole time I’ve been here. Have you even heard a word I’ve said?”

Uh, well… Bulma glanced back to where Vegeta was performing an impressive string of katas under the hot summer sun. Shirtless. Perspiration glistened brightly on his tanned skin. “…Something about Gohan?” she guessed.

Chi Chi let out a long sigh. “Really. You’re hopeless.”

“Sorry, Chi Chi. It’s just so rare to see him outside.” She gave her friend an apologetic smile and leaned back in her sun chair. The water of the nearby pool lapped pleasantly against its walls. “I wonder why he left the GR?”

Chi Chi huffed, turning her nose up at the topic. “Who knows.” _Who cares_ is what her tone implied.

Bulma wasn’t phased, still musing aloud. “You know, the GR is kind of stuffy. Isolating. Do you think we should invite him over?”

“Bulma, I swear if you do, I’ll—”

“SHH, he’s coming!” Bulma hushed her friend, much to Chi Chi’s aggravation.

“I will NOT be shushed for some muscled-headed neander _mmf!_ ”

Bulma shoved a cream puff into Chi Chi’s mouth before collecting her drink, hoping to appear perfectly composed and not like she had just been spying on her enigmatic house-guest.

Vegeta stalked over to where they reclined by the pool side, and eyed the pitcher at their table. Sweat dripped heavily off him, wetting the pavement at his feet. “What manner of beverage is that,” he growled, his voice hoarse and labored from his workout.

“Pink lemonade,” Bulma supplied, swirling her straw about her glass. “Mostly it’s water, sugar, and fruit. Would you like a glass— HEY!”

Vegeta picked up the entire pitcher and started draining it in ravenous gulps. It took all of five seconds for him to drain the entire container, ice and all. He set the empty pitcher back on the table and grimaced.

“Tart.”

“It’s SUPPOSED to be!” Bulma snapped, annoyed by his lack of manners.

“Saiyans,” Chi Chi grumbled.

Vegeta leveled the dark haired woman with a hard look that Chi Chi defiantly returned. “Tch.” He glanced over to Bulma and paused. Onyx eyes drank in the tiny bikini she wore before meeting her gaze.

It struck her: he knew she had been watching. And he watched her back.

Vegeta turned on his heel and returned towards the GR.

“Heed my words, Bulma. All they think about is food and fighting,” Chi Chi warned, venting her frustration at more than just Vegeta by the sounds of it.

Bulma rested her chin on her palm, watching Vegeta saunter off, his tight muscles rippling powerfully under the sunlight. “Mmm, perhaps. But damn, you can’t argue the results.”

 

* * *

~xo0xo~

 

 **AN** : For **VegetaPsycho** who requested: "Bulma, you've been staring at him for the last half hour."


	3. Gala

**~Gala~**

 

The meat was tender, hot juices bleeding into his mouth. Vegeta wasn’t especially choosey when it came to food, but he had to admit Earth knew its cuisine. The chicken skin crackled, cooked to perfection, seasoned with a sauce that burst with pleasing flavor. He hungrily eyed the oven where Panchy was pulling out another similarly roast bird.

She caught his look. “Sorry, sweety. This one is for the party.”

Party? Ah, so that explained why Panchy was dolled up a little more lavishly than usual, and why there were a lot more people buzzing about the complex. Pests. More bodies meant more security risk. Not that the Briefs seemed to care for such things but for Vegeta, old habits died hard. He had glowered and snarled at each worker until the temporary staff learned to birth a wide radius around him. Still, if putting up with them meant he could reap some tasty benefits, then maybe it wasn’t all so bad.

“You’re coming, aren’t you Vegeta honey?”

The only parties Vegeta had much experience with were the galas Frieza threw, horrible things filled with brown-nosing sycophants and a bout or two of torture on some wretched soul that had displeased his Sliminess. Too well Vegeta remembered the sting of laughter as he was whipped for Frieza’s entertainment. Not even glazed meat could tempt him to voluntarily endure that again.

“No.”

“Mom!”

Vegeta and Panchy looked over to the doorway. It took him a few seconds to recognize who the woman was.

She was swathed in a navy gown that dripped over her porcelain curves like honey. It was cut deeply too, showing off ample cleaving and the entirety of each voluptuous leg as she walked. Even more stunning was the cape she wore, made entirely of gold-dusted feathers. Her hair had been tamed from its wild curls into a smooth elaborate braid that wrapped neatly about the back of her hair, little glittering pearls and diamonds sparkling amongst her teal tresses. Bulma…

_She looks like a queen._

The thought hit him as powerfully as a ki wave. He couldn’t help staring, his meal all but forgotten.

“Where are the caterers I hired?” Bulma tsked as she breezed into the kitchen to rescue her mother. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’ll get your dress dirty.”

Panchy just tittered. “Oh Bulma, you know I love doing this myself. My, don’t you look a treat. Is Yamcha coming?”

“Only if he wants my stiletto up his ass.” Bulma snapped, her ruby-red lips curling up with distaste at the man’s name.

Holy shit. Beautiful and fiery.

_She was perfect._

Blue eyes dancing with electric fire turned on him and narrowed. Her manicured fingers drummed against the jut of her hip. “And you. I hope you don’t intend on coming in _that_.”

Vegeta rarely felt self conscious in his training shorts, but he found himself feeling so now. What the fuck did she want him to say? The only respectable outfit he owned was half beat-up from several near-death experiences.

Bulma appeared to come to the same conclusion, and she let out an aggravated sigh. “I’ll have someone send a suit to your room. Please change before the guests arrive.” With that she turned her attention back to her mother, dismissing him as though he couldn’t annihilate her entire race on a whim. Bulma forcibly removed Panchy from the kitchen and left him alone with his half eaten bird.

Now what? He could finish his meal, slink off to the GR and ignore this whole fiascofor the night. Or, he could put on some ridiculous outfit and endure hours of horrendous small talk and shoulder rubbing, just for a chance to watch Bulma crush self-aggrandized simpletons under her royal heel.

It was an easy choice. Vegeta dropped his chicken and headed up to his room to snatch a suit out of a cowering attendant’s hands.

 

~xo0xo~

* * *

 

 **AN** : For **Doakes88** who requested: Bulma getting ready for some gala before they’re together and he notices how regal she looks.


	4. Birthday

**~Birthday~**

 

The morning sun shone brightly against the white marble countertops in Capsule Corp.’s kitchen. Vegeta, however, had better things to do than marvel at the beauty of the day. He needed to fuel-up before training. Now that Kakarot was back from the dead, a fire was lit under him. Super Saiyan 3 his ass. What a ridiculous form. Wasteful. He would find a new form, a better one, then Kakarot would be the one needing to play catch-up for once.

Vegeta was on his third bowl of breakfast when something at waist-height spoke up in a tentative voice. “Papa?”

Pausing mid-bite, he looked down to where his son was. The small boy’s face was set in determination, hands fisted, his cheeks puffed in an attempt to bolster his nerves. Vegeta had seen the same expression on the boy during their training sessions. Trunks was trying to put on a brave front.

“I need help.”

Vegeta’s brow hitched up. It was rare for Trunks to ask him for help. The boy knew his father favored a rather brutal hands-on approach to learning. Sink or swim. Fight or die. No one came to Vegeta for help unless they were really, truly desperate.

This ought to be good.

When Trunks saw that his request wasn’t instantly refused, he pulled something out from behind his back. A magazine, folded open to a shiny picture of a strawberry cake, was cautiously pushed across the kitchen counter for his inspection.

“I want to make this,” he explained. “But I don’t really know how.”

A cake? The boy was pestering him about dessert? Vegeta pushed the picture back. “Ask your mother.” She was, after all, far better at cooking than he was.

“I can’t. It’s _for_ Mom.”

Wait… Vegeta glanced at the calendar on the fridge door and grimaced. Tomorrow’s date was circled in thick red marker: August 18th. Bulma’s birthday.

Damnit. He had spent enough years on Earth to know that celebrating one’s birth was something of a big deal, especially to Bulma. So far he had managed to avoid most events, scraping by with the bare minimum of effort. But now that he was married, he got the feeling that his usual recalcitrance wouldn’t be so well tolerated.

“We have to do _something_ ,” Trunks pleaded, eyes the same as Bulma’s looking hopefully up at him.

That woman… She had housed him. Kept him well provided for, far better than the Frieza Force ever had. Took care of him, gave him company even when he didn’t want it. _Especially_ when he didn’t want it. She had… loved him. Bore his son. And somehow found it within herself to forgive him after the world tournament.

If there was one person he would suffer for, one person he would endure some overly sentimental display of affection for, it was her. He still woke up some nights, sweating and shaking with nightmares of her being eaten alive.

Her birthday deserved to be celebrated.

He sighed, pushing his breakfast away. So much for surpassing Kakarot today. “Read me the goddamn ingredients.”

~xox~

* * *

 

Vegeta and Trunks (who stood on a step-stool next to him) stared at the horrible mush in the bowl they had been laboring over. Somewhere they had gone horribly awry but Vegeta wasn’t ready to take the blame on this one.

Unfortunately, Trunks had inherited his parents’ bluntness. “I think you did it wrong.”

Vegeta’s jaw clenched, shooting the boy a withering side-eye, but he had to agree. The crushed flower petals drifting sadly in the oily-yolky water looked nothing like Earth food he was familiar with. _Two and a half cups of ‘flower’_ ; Vegeta had been skeptical, but Trunks confirmed that’s what the recipe called for. So out they went to the garden and picked some of Bulma’s favorite roses to make the cake.

Trunks continued to stir the ingredients, but his shoulders were slumped in sad defeat. The poor kid. He had only wanted to surprise his mother for her birthday. It wasn’t his fault he was lumped with a father whose nearest home-making ability was how to cook one’s goose. Vegeta made a mental note to learn a few more domestic skills from here on out.

The red circled 18th loomed over them from the fridge door. Like hell he was giving up this easily. “We’ll adapt.”

Trunks looked up at him, brow creasing in confusion. “Adapt?”

“Yes. We’re Saiyan Elite. You think one cake can beat us? Besides, we know your mother better than a magazine, don’t we?”

Trunks’s eyes light up at his father’s words, a smile forming on his face. “Of course we do!”

“Exactly. So, what’s the most important ingredient?”

“Strawberries.”

Vegeta nodded. He rested his hand on Trunks’ soft head and leaned in, his eyes shining with the light of a predator sighting its prey. “Then bring me every strawberry-flavored thing in this house.”

The glint in Trunks’ gaze reflected Vegeta’s. “Yes, Sir!”

~xox~

* * *

 

“Mom?”

Bulma blinked open her eyes, grey pre-dawn light filtering in through the window. The soft glow haloed the lilac hair of her boy who stood next to her bed. Bulma smiled and half sat up, blinking open sleepy-eyes.

“Trunks, honey? What is it?”

Her son hefted something up, offering a bowl to her proudly. “Happy Birthday!”

“Oh, Trunks, it’s… _lovely_ ,” Bulma struggled to think of a complimentary adjective as she took the dish from her son.

 _What was it?_ If she didn’t know better, it looked like something had been murdered, scooped into a dish, and gelatined. Then decorated with one unlit candle, stabbed haphazardly in the middle. The whole thing smelt cloyingly sweet, reeking of artificial strawberries like some teenage girl’s body wash.

“Papa and I made it for you,” Trunks announced as he climbed onto the bed, sitting on her legs and watching her with anticipation.

Bulma put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Your _father_ helped you?”

“Yep! It was supposed to be a cake but we adapted the recipe. We’re Saiyan elite, you know. Mom, you like pudding, don’t you?”

Bulma stared at the cooking disaster, wishing she could have seen her husband and son in the kitchen together. Something remarkably like a soggy flower-petal peeked out from the reddish-brown sludge. “Oh, of course. What uh… How did you adapt the recipe exactly?”

Trunks looked up as he tried to remember. “Okay, so, there are strawberries, and strawberry jell-o, and strawberry syrup, and um—”

Okay, so far it didn’t sound _too_ bad.

“And strawberry mints, and strawberry jam, and strawberry yogurt, and coffee, and—”

“Coffee?”

“You like coffee too, right?”

“Right. Of course.”

Trunks beamed and continued to list off more strawberry products while Bulma lifted the spoon to get a better look at her ‘pudding’. It dribbled back into the bowl the way blood-colored snot might.

Kami, save her.

“Okay, Trunks, I uh, think I get the picture,” she put an end to him listing off all the ingredients. Maybe it was best she didn’t know what it was made of.

Trunk watched her playing with it. “Aren’t you going to try some?”

Bulma hoped her dismay didn’t show through her smile. Trunks had clearly worked hard to make it for her. It was the least she could do to sample some. Perhaps this was divine punishment for not having given either her son or husband cooking lessons. She picked up the spoon and wondered if the dragon balls could wish her back from food poisoning.

“Oi. The candle,” Vegeta barked from the doorway.

Oh thank fuck, she was saved.

Trunks turned around. “Oh right! Can’t you light it?”

“You want me to break your mother’s rule on her birthday?”

No ki in the house. Less things got broken that way.

“But—”

“No buts. Get the lighter from the kitchen.”

Trunks hurried off the bed to comply. “Okay, okay. Mom, don’t eat any until I get back. I wanna watch your reaction!”

Oh boy, he really didn’t have to worry about _that_.

Her husband waited until Trunks was out of earshot before he approached her on the bed. From behind his back he pulled out another bowl, this one filled with a much more pleasing pink pudding. “We owe your mother one,” he explained, not quite meeting her eyes. Aw, he was embarrassed! Bulma’s heart tightened. Vegeta wasn’t big on sentimentality, or cooking, or asking for help, and especially on admitting when he had messed-up, yet he had done all the above for her. To think that angry little space man from years ago would become her husband, that he would die to save the same planet he had once tried to destroy, and was now offering her strawberry pudding in bed. Life really was amazing.

Vegeta put the candle into Panchy’s strawberry pudding and shoved the horrific one under the bed before their son returned.

Bulma wrapped her arms around his strong neck. “My hero,” she whispered warmly into his ear.

He hesitated, still getting used to this affection business, but soon enough put his arms on her lower back in a hug.

“Ewwww, gross.” Trunks announced obnoxiously loud from the doorway, shielding his eyes behind his hand. “I’m right here you two.”

“I could end that problem real quick, boy,” Vegeta growled.

Trunks gulped and approached the bed, offering the lighter to his father. Vegeta took it and lit the candle as Trunks settled on the other side of his mother. “Make a wish, Mom.”

Bulma looked between her son and her husband, their handsome faces glowing in the light of the candle, waiting on her expectantly. Her precious boys. A warm pain squeezed her chest, her heart filled to the brim with a happiness she didn’t know was possible. She let out a little laugh, trying to expel some of the feeling before she began to cry.

“I can’t think of anything to wish for. I already have everything I could ever want.”

“Oh… Can I have your wish then?” Trunks asked.

Vegeta promptly slapped him upside the head.

“Ow!”

Bulma laughed, grabbing both of them and kissing each one on the cheek. “I love you both so much. Thank you.”

“Ew, Mom, GROSS!”

Vegeta blushed, but his arm wrapped tight about her back, holding her close.

“Happy birthday, Bulma.”

* * *

~xo0xo~

* * *

 

 **AN** : **For Kathryn** who requested: _Bulma’s birthday! Trunks does something cute and Vegeta does a secret cute thing because he doesn't give a sh*t but he knows she would be so happy about it._

Thanks to **Stupidoomdoodles** for helping me come up with some cute ideas.

 

And yes, I may have timed this to coincide with August 18, haha XD **Happy Birthday, Queen B!!!**


End file.
